


Smokes and Mirror

by azure7539



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, BDSM, Domestic Violence, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mission Fic, Other, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slow Burn, cross-dressing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2018-07-26 05:31:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7562278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azure7539/pseuds/azure7539
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Why didn’t you inform us of how he is?” </i>
</p>
<p>  <i>Bond snorted. “And what would you have done? Pull me out?” The quirk of his lips was cold and cruel, perhaps more to himself than anything. “It’s an occupational hazard, <i>Solomon</i>.” </i></p>
<p>  <i>Q’s lips pressed to a thin line. “We could have tried to push the process faster.” </i></p>
<p>  <i>The agent shook his head. “Hardly. It isn’t the sort of operation where you can afford that sort of thing.” </i></p>
<p> <br/>-</p>
<p>In which, during one of Bond's deep undercover missions, things took unexpected turns. Then, Q stepped in to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Smokes Weaving Through Cracks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started out as a joke, but quickly grew into a monster. 
> 
> **Inspiration taken from[this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gkp4t5NYzVM) video.**
> 
> Thank you, Ran196242, for the all the enthusiasms and encouragement. I would have left this to gather dust if you hadn't pushed for more, something which you continue to do.
> 
> To readers, please heed the tags and be warned, this story can and will possibly turn rather dark.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

  _ **Chapter 1:**_ Smokes Weaving Through Cracks

* * *

 

_“Hold your position,”_ Q whispered through the earpiece, the new design that had been molded to fit precisely into agents’ ear canals. _“He’s arriving through the entrance.”_

“Eyes on the door,” Bond replied, using the motion of his bringing his drink up for a sip to cover the murmur of his lips, attention on the door that led into the establishment’s bar. He could already catch brief glimpses of the target’s reflections in the glass. “Going for radio silence. I’ll keep you posted.” There was a hint of the usual playfulness in his tone as he said this, and Q snorted.

“Copy that, 007,” Q acknowledged, turning off the communication link as requested, watching through the hacked CCTV feed the grainy image of Bond slipping away his earpiece with an inconspicuous hand movement, fluid and easy.

Just a few seconds later, their target strolled in, and just like that, Q could tell his focus had been drawn to the blond stranger sitting on one of those stools at the bar, looking the perfect picture of charged nonchalance even as the mark watched, circled, and assessed before sidling down on the chair next to Bond’s.

Good. Mission partially completed then, Q remembered thinking to himself at the time as he assigned the mission over to a few of his minions to monitor and notify him should anything come up.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

Nothing had come up after that. Bond had already managed to catch the target’s attention right from the get go; the remaining measures would be taken to ensure of his close entanglement with the target.

This was a high-profile, relatively non-time-sensitive mission that revolved around the basis of exploiting and discovering any information necessary. Normally, these sort of operations simply did not make it to the 00 section, but considering the circumstances surrounding this case, with their actual mole being brutally eliminated during an unexpected internal system wiping after the recent power shift within the organisation. As it was, the experience and suavity of a special agent were required to make a swift connection, as well as that License to Kill.

And as expected, Bond delivered a near flawless entrance, this Q had had hardly any doubts of—what would come following next was his actual concern. Due to the nature of this mission, it would be lengthier than most of Bond’s other operations, and would probably be more restrictive to his mobility also, depending on the circumstances.

A bored Double-O had never failed to be the start of a recipe disaster.

But well, they’d just have to wait and see, he supposed.

 

* * *

 

A while later, after a few more encounters, Bond’s connection was secured.

It was then that the true undercover essence of this mission finally began to unfurl for real: Bond rarely contacted, except for when new leads came up. Q’s job now was reduced to monitoring Smart Blood—a newly developed, state of the art nanotech program that would allow him to keep track of agents’ whereabouts and their well-being—just to make sure nothing was physically wrong with Bond during this time until whenever the mission was to be completed.

And, it was sort of strange, not seeing Bond and his smug, perpetual half smile that he sported whilst lurking the halls of MI6 or straying down here to Q-Branch. There was even this sort of ridiculous anticipation that kept welling up inside of Q whenever his eyes happened to stray over to the door that led to his department, as though expecting Bond to come waltzing in at any second to return battered and broken pieces of equipment, if he still had them at all.

But, as Q had told himself, it was a ridiculous, silly thought: as the Quartermaster, he, better than many, should be perfectly aware of when Bond was coming back, and it clearly was not right then.

It was most probably the sleep deprivation in general combination with stress and essentially running on caffeine and adrenaline for the better parts of the days, that were swirling odd thoughts in his mind; nothing more, nothing less.

Therefore, Q just shrugged it off and continued doing his job of directing dangerous missions, designing, fixing abused techs and scolding the agents who had inflicted the damages.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

The bed was creaking.

His breathing was ragged and loud in the otherwise relative silence of the room, and he hitched his legs up to hook behind the other man’s back, a sign of encouragement, even if the pace was already rather bruising as it was.

Truth be told, he wanted it to be over, the sooner the better.

The rapid beating of their hearts resonated within the remaining small gap between their chests, and his blunt nails dug into the man’s exposed shoulder blade and that space just right below the nape of his neck, arching.

“Scratcher,” said man scolded, half-hearted at most, somewhat out of breath.

“Good thing I don’t wear fake nails,” he quipped, receiving an amused chuckle in return.

“I can appreciate bit of polish from time to time, but I like your hands natural like that,” the man continued, thrusting in with an edge of urgency now, holding his hips in those tight, seemingly possessive grips.

He moaned, giving the already there sound a bit of a push so it would make it past his throat, as he reached down between them to stroke his aching erection.

Of course, his hand was sharply swatted away. He had expected it.

It was the game that they played.

And that hand, which had slapped his away, went down to wrap around his cock instead, but keeping the hold there, not moving an inch.

He let out a sharp breath.

“Now,” the man purred, leaning in to claim his lips, kissing them swollen. “What do you say?”

Hot breaths ghosted over his skin, and instincts told him to kick the bastard off while logic besought him to spread and whimper.

He opted for the latter after a fraction of a second.

“Please,” he pleaded, voice heady and thick. “Please… Let me come.”

This earned him a smirk that made his guts recoil in disgust, gripping around the man’s length inside of him as though a sign of lusting for more.

“Good girl.”

And the vigorous thrusting resumed, accompanied now by crude tugs at his shaft that would normally have him wilted sooner rather than later, but right then, he was already far too close to care, pushing back to meet the jutting of those hips and angling it so that his prostate received more attention as well.

A few more kisses and thrusts, they both came with him flinching away a little from the shout that was ringing that tad too close to his right eardrum.

The man collapsed down on top of him, quite a hefty weight himself, lean or not, and he let out a breath, hands still going up to stroke the man’s sweaty, heaving back—a sign of physical exertion.

Good.

A moment of silence passed, with one basking in the afterglow and the other counting away the seconds in his mind, before he felt the man remove his weight, and himself, off of him.

“Look at you,” the man murmured, all too pleased with himself. “Rumpled up, dress spattered with your own come.”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Well, Friedrich, I’m not the one who couldn’t wait.”

Friedrich snorted a laugh. “Who am I to compete with the patience of an older woman?”

He smiled instead of kneeing Friedrich in the groin. “True,” he conceded with a drawl. “Though a sentiment I don’t think Anne shares.”

They both laughed a little.

“Speaking of Anne,” he spoke up again after waiting for two seconds once the laughter had eased. “I saw her talking to a strange man the other day,” he put on a curious voice. “Tall, brunette, I think.” Of course he remembered perfectly well that it was a chestnut-haired man with a spot of bald beginning to appear just on the top of his head, hooked nose, and thin, pinched lips. But, there was no reason why he should be saying all of that aloud. His brows drew together a little as he stroked Friedrich’s chest. “Any idea who that is? Her new boyfriend?”

Definitely not a boyfriend from the way how they had been talking to one another—half a step too far away in distance.

“Please, Janette,” Friedrich laughed again, by himself this time. “Anne and Oskar? Not in a million years,” he scoffed. “He was friends with her husband before Dicky died. Still helps Anne out with a few things from time to time, but they can’t really stand one another that well.”

“Ah…” he breathed, nodding to express understanding.

Friedrich chuckled, kissing his forehead. “Okay, got to run now, baby,” he crooned. “Give yourself a nice shower, and I’ll be back in a few hours to ruin you again, all right?”

Another brief kiss, and Friedrich was already putting on his clothes and quickly headed out of the door, closing it shut with a hurried click.

Slipping out of bed, tossing the wig away atop the soiled sheets, then stripping off the dress, Bond padded into the shower with a forming sneer.

Ruin, indeed.


	2. Needle Points

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More light shed on the nature of Bond's mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a long while of contemplation, I decided to post the rest of this story, otherwise, it'll keep buzzing at the back of my brain.
> 
> Warning for **language** toward the end of the chapter.

At first, like so many other games, it was push and pull. You lured, you captured, and you played into their hands as though everything had been within their control since the very beginning.

But it only worked on familiar territories. And this was no longer familiar territory.

Bond looked at his reflection in the mirror, his hand steady as he brought the lipstick up closer and closer to his lips, careful as though handling a straight razor, before applying it. He had watched enough women do it to know how.

His mind suddenly strayed to Vesper, to how she had sat in front of a dressing table not unlike this one, legs crossed and back arched while leaning into the mirror with a small smile on her lips…

She had been doing the same thing that morning, entirely at ease and all flaming red dress, before drowning in a watery pit later on.

Quickly, he pushed the image away.

This was no longer familiar territory, he reminded himself of the previous track of thoughts, musing back on that first time when his target had been so thrilled and eager the moment he thought Bond had finally yielded. In fact, the same thing still thrilled and delighted Friedrich even up to then, hence this so-called relationship.

Power transferral, as it was. Some people got off on it, and Friedrich Schwarz happened to be one of them, which didn’t surprise Bond at all.

However, to be fair, the cross-dressing had initially caught him off guard. He had done a lot of things over the years, but this would be his first time dressing up as a woman.

But then again, what was a mission without a bit of a challenge, not to mention that he had already managed to ensnare the interest of their target?

The brush dusted a light, unsuspecting shade of blush over his cheeks, and Bond set it down to pick up the earrings next.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

“Enjoying the view?”

Bond turned to the source of the voice and smiled slowly. “I am.” Friedrich was approaching, looking amused and, more than anything,  _interested_. “You’re back early,” Bond continued, acting oblivious, as the brunette leaned in to nuzzle just behind his ear, pressing a kiss there.

Bond craned his neck a little to appear more receptive.

“Finished it sooner than expected,” Friedrich replied vaguely, voice a gravel, his too close hot breaths ghosting over the agent’s prickling skin. “Fuck, do you have any idea what seeing you like this does to me?”

No, Bond retorted in his mind. “I can make a guess,” he whispered back.

“Been smoking?” The question cropped up out of the blue, halting Bond.

“Just one,” he conceded softly.

“It’s bad for your lungs, you know that.”

Bond met his gaze and sighed, straightening up somewhat. “I know, but old habits die hard.” Besides, it helped settle his mind and stop him from twitching for his gun that wasn’t there on him anymore.

Friedrich lifted his chin up by the digits of his forefinger, keeping Bond’s face in place. “Die hard or not, you are not going to smoke anymore,” he all but order, and Bond drew in a breath. “I want you healthy for me.”

“You’re a decade or two too late in that health regard, I’m afraid,” Bond muttered even as Friedrich pressed closer, using his height (the only advantage he had) to tower over him, their mouths centimetres apart.

“I don’t care,” the other man growled, breaching that final gap to suck and bite on his lips. “You’re mine now, and nothing is too late.”

He ground his hips against Bond’s, hands smoothing down to grip the blonde’s waist. “Friedrich,” Bond mumbled, exhaling as he held Friedrich’s shoulders back. “It’s almost dinner time.”

“So?”

“So, I don’t feel like changing for the second time today, if you decide to ruin this dress, too.”

Friedrich chuckled. “Fine. Later then.” He pulled away with a lingering kiss. “We’ll have the night to ourselves, and I can thoroughly fuck you into the mattress.”

Bond’s stomach clenched as he smiled coyly. “Sounds promising.”

There came a sudden knock on the door then, and Friedrich grumbled. “Yes?”

The knob twisted, and a small child poked in through that small gap. It was Georg, Friedrich’s cousin. “Err… Ella told me to call you down for supper,” he hesitated.

“We know,” Friedrich snapped, startling the boy, who nodded quickly and retreated without another word.

Bond leant back against the balcony’s railing. Ella, that bitch. She knew Friedrich hated the child, as well as his mother, and deliberately did that to piss him off.

“Useless twit,” Friedrich was still snarling under his breath.

“He’s just a kid, Friedrich,” Bond tried to soothe even as he wanted nothing more than to blatantly throw the actual twit here over the balcony to the ground below. “And your sister did tell him to do that.” He placed a placating hand on Friedrich’s back.

“He’s _eleven_!” He retorted as though that should be able to justify for anything, but Bond knew from the way how the Schwarz was flexing his muscles that he was calming down already.

“Yes, he’s eleven. Not yet old enough for puberty even. He can do you no harm.”

“And you’re saying all this because?”

“Because he’s not worth your anger,” Bond deadpanned. He couldn’t care less about anyone else—they could tear each other apart, and he would egg it on from the side-line—but a child was still a child, especially when he hadn’t done anything to warrant this sort of attitude and treatment other than the fact that he was the son of the elder brother of Friedrich’s late father, making him a possible heir to the entire Schwarz’s legacy, successfully kicking Friedrich out of the picture.

Friedrich stared at him for a long moment, a stare which Bond returned steadily, before sighing and reaching an arm out to pull Bond closer, tucking him to his side. “All right. You win.” He pressed a kiss to Bond’s forehead.

“Logic wins,” Bond sniffed. “Now, dinner.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

* * *

 

Dinner was a sordid affair. It always had been, more so when he could skip every other meal except for this. It was as though one supper together at the end of the day would be enough for them to pretend they weren’t a dysfunctional family.

And just for the generally disgusted look most of them shot his way when they strolled in, with the sound of his heels clicking on the floor, Bond smiled and nibbled on Friedrich’s lips.

It was well worth it when Ella snorted on her wine while her husband, Francis, the French of the family, paled somewhat, as Friedrich settled down at the head of the table with Bond by his side right opposite the pair.

“Janette,” Ella greeted, voice falsely high-pitched and pricking at his eardrums like needles. “We heard you coming from a floor away.” She laughed.

Bond shrugged. “High heels.”

“Must be straining on your feet, huh?” she crooned. “That’s why I don’t like high heels much.”

“Well, that’s only understandable, considering that people with long legs tend to prefer high heels because they look better with them on.”

Jonathan, the third sibling, sniggered at this as his sister’s face heated an indignant flush. Heinz, the youngest of four, kept to his wife, however. Anne, their aunt, smiled secretively and tended to one of her grandchildren while the other was busy running around to play with Ella’s only son. Georg was obediently eating his portion that his mother, Natalie, was taking for him at the end of the table.

“She does have long legs,” Friedrich purred suggestively, his feet teasing at Bond’s stocking-clad calf.

It was an all-around miniature chaos, and Bond could already feel a headache building in the back of his skull.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

“We have eyes on the club, sir.”

Q nodded, his fingers typing rapidly on the keyboard as he quickly bypassed the security system of the place.

“Target entering through entrance three,” Q nudged his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, relaying the information over the comms link.

Everyone was high-strung over this as there were civilians in the club—one misstep, and the wrong people could die.

“Get ready.”

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

A distinctive buzz woke him up, and if it hadn’t been for the dead weight on top of him, Bond would have blindly tried to reach for his gun. Friedrich grunted and reached for his vibrating phone, elbow digging a little into Bond’s ribs.

“What’s it?” he snapped at whoever it was on the other end of the line. The answer filtered through in tiny garbles to Bond’s ears as he kept his eyes closed, feigning disinterest, noticing that stark second when the body on him froze. “ _What?_ ”

And Friedrich was getting up, haphazardly throwing his bathrobe on.

“What is it?” It was Bond’s turn to ask. “What’s wrong?”

“Just something down at a club. Nothing for you to worry about, babe. Sleep.”

Bond made himself stay still for that open mouth kiss that left a bit of saliva on his cheek, only rolling his eyes in the quiet darkness once the door had opened and shut again.

Waiting for a handful of seconds until the immediate commotion outside died down, he reached for his own bathrobe, frowning a bit at the stickiness all over his body, then slipped soundlessly out as well, bare feet padding along the cold tiles.

He didn’t even need to make it too close to the study to start catching the barely contained whirlwind inside.

“How did this happen?” Ella asked loudly.

“Is he dead?” Friedrich spoke up over her, probably directing this to Anne, who had most of the information and connections in her hand.

“It keeps happening more and more now.”

“Anne!”

“Hold on, I’m confirming it!”

“For fuck’s sake, hurry!”

“Don’t you see?! Don’t you fucking see, Friedrich? Ever since you brought that man whore home, nothing has ever been right!”

“What the fuck, Ella!” Friedrich snapped. “Don’t you fucking dare call her that!”

“What? So you didn’t take that abominable little shit back from a brothel? And what ‘her’, Friedrich, that’s a bastard with a dick between his legs dressing up like a woman and spreading his legs for you to fuck!” Ella shrieked.

And when more shouting and bellowing came from the room, Bond retreated, a mirthless curve to his lips.


	3. Tilting at the Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond gets into trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never expected this to be in any way, shape or form, popular, so I'm immensely happy to have received all the kudos, and grateful to those who have read this story so far. Thank you and enjoy!

After that raid in the club, people told him, and the agents involved, that it was a job well done. But then, Q couldn’t help but think about how the reason why they had succeeded, or even knew about this in the first place, at all was because of Bond and the information he was feeding them.

It would be better for him to think in terms that Bond would receive his own compliments, too, when he made it back, but Q knew, as much as any other agent, that once the mission was done and objective achieved, there was not much else at the end of the tunnel other than perhaps a brief nod from M should everything was an overall success.

But then, it wasn’t what he should be worried about. To be perfectly honest, it wasn’t something he should even be thinking about at all. It was what it was, and everyone here knew that. No more, no less.

And so Q settled back into his chair to continue tinkering away with another one of those small prototypes he had been working on, after checking on Smart Blood one more time, of course.

Everything seemed to be in order.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

“You really do look good in a suit.”

Bond scoffed softly, toning it down so it wouldn’t seem unkind. “That I know, Friedrich.”

“If you had refrained a little from the expensive cuts, maybe you’d still have enough money to sustain your company.” There was an amused bark of laughter, one that Bond stayed silent throughout. “But alas, we wouldn’t be here if it had.”

A sharp swat on the arse, and he jumped a little.

“Are you sure you won’t wear a dress?” Friedrich continued easily like the last twenty seconds hadn’t existed. Well, of course Bond didn’t mind, he had never had any company to begin with at any rate. “You look great in one, too.”

“Some people know me where we’re going, Friedrich,” Bond replied, adjusting the lapels of the dark charcoal jacket over his pristine, freshly pressed white shirt. “And if I ever want to start my business again, I can’t afford to look anything less than sharp casual.”

His words dropped into silence, and Bond pretended as though he didn’t notice this, focusing on his reflection in the mirror—no wig, no makeup, no dress, no accessories. Just him; him in his suit. He reminded himself to bring along the mobile.

“You still plan on going back to work?” the Schwarz asked, his voice a note or two quieter than usual.

“Yes,” Bond turned back to look at him, one eyebrow raised.

“I can take care of you, you know that.”

The possessive tinge that coloured his insinuation made the skin on Bond’s back prickle, other than the fact that he was pushing closer, that was.

Since when had his attitude shifted to possessiveness?

“I can’t rely on you for ever, Friedrich,” Bond pointed out. Who would want to?

“You can, and you will. I don’t want you to have to do anything anymore. You’ve been hurt enough.”

If a snort right then hadn’t most probably raged a thunderous storm from him, thus sabotaging that day’s outing, Bond would have done it. But seeing as trips like these were already far and few between as it was, and MI6 was still expecting information, he couldn’t afford to lose it.

Neither could he afford choking Friedrich until some more time. A turmoil was brewing, but it was yet enough to tear them apart from the inside out.

“I haven’t been hurt.”

“Don’t lie,” Friedrich all but snarl, the palm of his hand felt near searing as it pressed exactly over that bullet scar in Bond’s right pectoral. “They left you in a ditch for death during combat, and you had to crawl back to camp alone, Richard. And when your company began crumbling down due to insufficient funding, your wife left you, too.”

Bond stared back at Friedrich, his jaws clenching as he kept his gaze steady. They said the best lies were ones based on the truth.

“You ran my background?” Bond asked quietly.

“That isn’t the point. The point is: you have been hurt enough already, baby,” Friedrich carried on. “And now I want you to have a peaceful life here with me, okay? No more struggling, no more fighting. Just stay here with me. You’ve been doing it so well.”

His fingers slipped into Bond’s hairline as he continued, “You just have to be good.”

“You’ll leave me sooner or later,” Bond muttered, keeping his position steadfast.

“What makes you think so?” Friedrich frowned.

“Because they always do,” he replied in a matter-of-fact voice. “It’s just a matter of time.”

“Well, I won’t, all right?” Friedrich stated definitely. “I’m not the people whom you’re referring to. I love you for who you are.”

Bond could feel disgust roiling in his gut. This was hypocrisy in all its glory.

“I—…” Bond began, but never got the chance to finish that when three decisive knocks resounded against the door.

“Friedrich!” Charles, Friedrich’s childhood friend and the Head of the Security team around here, called from the other side of the door. “Car’s ready!”

“Got it!” Friedrich called back, before focusing his attention to Bond once more. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Bond sighed and followed him, glad that the conversation was over. Sometimes, he thought he had been deliberately given this task to test his patience.

“Eye mask again?” he asked, and Friedrich nodded. “You don’t trust me.”

“You know that’s not it,” Friedrich said with a frown. “I can’t show you until I have you as my husband… or wife.” He winked suggestively, and Bond managed a small quirk of his lips.

There had only ever been so many options: either he killed them all, or he extracted all the information he could first before killing them all, too.

But the problem with killing them all right there and then to save himself the trouble was the fact that this family-run organization had been around for long enough that, even if Bond did cut off all the heads, others from under them would rise to take their places. Not to mention the fact that these people were still mostly working on the basis of ledgers, memories, and old-time connections, instead of digitalised databases, which was the main reason why this was taking so damn long.

And so it had to be the other way. Infiltration, information extraction, internal corruption, and finally, elimination.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

“Sir.”

Q tilted his head to indicate that he was listening without looking up.

“007’s just surfaced in town.”

He perked up at this and was quickly abandoning whatever equipment he had been tweaking on in favour of turning to his laptop. “Transfer him over.”

The usual silver BMW had pulled to a stop by the kerb, and Bond was giving their target a kiss goodbye before letting go, remaining in place until the vehicle had driven away and disappeared around a corner.

Once that was done, Bond headed inside the small café and was seated at his usual, most advantageous spot for them, still impeccable as ever in his suit even as he did seem to hesitated for a fraction of a second before settling down in his seat. Q frowned—must have been a camera glitch.

Bond ordered, and when the waitress was gone, his finger began tapping gently against the table surface, not loud enough to be audible, especially in the low chattering of other patrons, or obvious, but enough for the camera to pick up his movement.

They were already analysing and translating the codes.

It was a gradual process, but everything wrapped up quickly this time—there were only four pieces of information that Bond deemed useful enough to give them, including a bit about what business Friedrich Schwarz had during this trip.

Two hours passed like this without much else from Bond as the man continued to slowly sip on his coffee. His posture was relaxed and laid-back, eyes looking around almost lazily and belying the alertness he had to his surroundings.

It wasn’t difficult to guess that someone was watching him, someone whom he couldn’t afford to look suspicious to, otherwise, knowing Bond, he would have already stood up and wandered about at least for a bit already.

Was he always being watched? Really, Q wouldn’t be surprised if the answer were to be yes.

Then, the lunchtime crowd began filtering in as noon rolled about.

Bond waved for the waitress, and just was she was swinging by with a pitcher of water, a couple of running children rammed into her and knocked the woman down.

Unsurprisingly, 007 was there to assist.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

“Does it hurt when I do this?” Bond asked as he gently moved the ankle of the woman to the side. She hissed a little, face contorting in pain, before stammering a definite ‘Yes’.

The situation had been mostly neutralised with the children back to their mother and properly scolded for their recklessness; the owner had come running out to apologise, then cleared the broken pitcher away.

Now, there was just the injured waitress left.

“It’s most probably a sprain,” he told her in a calm, steady tone, looking straight into her eyes so she would calm down and breathe. “I will bandage your ankle up, but it’s best if you ask someone to take you to the hospital so they can give you a proper examination, all right?” He squinted his eyes a little to look at her name tag when she didn’t answer right away. “All right, Beth?”

She nodded urgently, still flushing but looking better than she had been at the start of this, and so he picked up the medical kit someone had helpfully deposited next to him to begin doing exactly what he had just told her.

Bond only paused minutely when a shadow came looming over him just as he was almost done.

“Hero to the rescue of a damsel in distress, hmm?” A familiar voice crooned. “Enjoying ourselves?”

Bond didn’t deign these with an answer as he reached for the clips.

“This is why you didn’t bring your mobile, isn’t it?”

A leg nudged at his side, and Bond did look up at this, a frown knitting his brows. “Don’t be ridiculous, Friedrich.” Really, he had never thought there would come a time when he was the actual voice of reason.

There was a pause, and Bond placed the waitress’ ankle down, gently, back onto the floor. “I’m afraid I can only do this much for you, Beth.”

Her smile and ‘thank you’ was drowned out by Friedrich’s too loud question:

“How is this my being _ridiculous_?”

Sighing, Bond stood up, moving aside so the owner could step in and take his place while he went for his jacket that he had draped over the back of his seat.

Friedrich seized his wrist, squeezing it in a near painful grip.

“Answer me,” he demanded in a low growl that aggravated Bond in a way that a persistent pest would.

“You don’t even listen to what you’re saying, do you?” Bond yanked his hand away. “I left my phone home on purpose to go here and orchestrate the fall of a waitress?”

“Are you denying it then?”

“What is there to even deny?” Bond snapped.

“What happened here, then? Tell me!” His voice was growing louder by the syllable, drawing the attention of other customers.

“It is as you see it is,” the agent hissed. “There is no reason why I should justify myself for something so utterly simple that everyone can understand and comprehend for themselves.”

“You little—…”

“Friedrich!” Charles cut in through the crowd, holding onto his friend’s shoulder. “Stop it,” he muttered. “This is not the place.”

Friedrich gritted his teeth, staring at Bond, who was defiantly looking straight back at him, before sneering, “Home. _Now_.”


	4. Choked Birds Don’t Scream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Consequences...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Graphic depiction of violence** and **abuse** ahead.
> 
> Please heed the warning and tags. If you don't like this, the back button is always there for you.

“Do we have audio on the café?” Q snapped, watching what was unfolding through the live feed on the other side of the screen.

Bond had that cold, livid look in his eyes, and for a moment there, they were all holding their breaths, waiting to see what was going to happen next—whether Bond would go down on the target or not—but most let out a sigh of relief when the blond man only seemed to clench his jaws and followed Friedrich outside back into the car.

Except for Q; he was still staring with fixed attention at the BMW even after Bond had climbed into it, the vehicle speeding away from immediate view.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

Bond went back upstairs with decided steps, blunt nails digging into the palms of his hands in the same fashion he was using to hold onto those last strands of nerve he possessed. From behind, Bond could hear Charles trying to console his fuming friend where they were still in the foyer.

“Come now, Fritz,” he said imploringly, using the nickname they had once called each other by as children, voice ringing within the confining walls. “Sort this out like an adult.”

Whatever he said next was lost on Bond’s ears as he slammed the door shut with a huff.

Kicking off his shoes, the agent was flinging his jacket atop the bed when the door was thrown open again to admit Friedrich.

Bond turned around at the sound of stomping strides just in time to knock the hand that was lunging for his scruff out of the way, sharp reflexes working to his favour.

“You’re arguing with me because of that bitch!” Friedrich all but roar.

“No,” Bond snapped. “ _You_ are arguing with me because you refuse to use common sense!”

“What common sense?!”

“She sprained her ankle falling down, Friedrich. There was no reason why I shouldn’t help,” Bond growled.

“There was no reason why it had to be _you_!” He tried to grab for Bond’s shoulders this time, and the agent smoothly sidestepped it as well, snorting in disdain.

“I don’t want to waste my breath fighting with you over nonsense things that you refuse to understand,” he snarled. “And stop touching me.”

There was a pause.

“What did you just say?”

Friedrich’s voice went down to a whispered pitch of fervour, reminiscent of a coiling rattlesnake, and Bond glared unflinchingly at him.

“Stop. Touching. Me,” he repeated, slowly and enunciating each word with a curl in his lips, revelling in the feeling of winding someone up.

With a sudden shout, Friedrich pounced, dashing forward to knock Bond to the floor. They fell with a dull thud, the mass of two grown men shaking the floor below… and that was even before the struggle actually began.

They rolled on the floor, trying to fight for dominance over one another. Friedrich had the initial advantage, but was quickly overpowered by Bond and his agility, throwing the German off using sheer brute force and a punch to the face.

But as he was removing himself out from under Friedrich, Bond was grabbed by the ankle and yanked backward, dislodging the hold of his hands and sending his torso crashing to the floor.

Hissing, Bond twisted around and gave Friedrich a sharp kick, briefly regretting that he had taken off his shoes, knocking the Schwarz backwards.

This time, he got up quickly and was already storming to the door when Friedrich’s bellow came bursting forth, “WALK OUT THAT DOOR AND YOU’RE NEVER COMING BACK HERE AGAIN!”

His hand froze on its way to the doorknob, body stiffening as Bond gritted his teeth, feeling the muscles pull on his face.

The mission.

He had still got a mission to complete, and Bond scarcely believed the same method could be deployed for them to ever get this close to the Schwarz’s again.

Friedrich’s feet trampled upon the tiles as he staggered himself upright, lancing right through Bond’s thoughts.

For a moment, silence reigned and neither moved.

Not until Bond took in a breath, squeezed his eyes shut, and felt the leaden pressure of gravity as it dragged his raised hand down back to his side.

“That’s right,” Friedrich crooned, still somewhat breathless as his voice crept up the plane of Bond’s back, ghosting along his skin. “You know there’s nothing out there for you, so be a good girl and come back here to me, Janette.”

Swallowing thickly, Bond flexed his hands and made himself turn, walking in consecutive steps and stopping three paces away from where Friedrich was leaning against the bed.

“Kneel.”

Bond warily obliged, and was immediately backhanded across the face, the force rebounding and bouncing in the tight space of his skull, ears ringing.

One swift kick in the middle of the chest, and he was tumbling to the floor again, the wind knocked out of his lungs.

Friedrich seized his jaw in a bruising grip, fingertips digging into his flesh and bone, one knee pressing to the tiles below. “You think you can bloody hit me and walk away, my dear?” he sneered. “Flirting with that waitress, and arguing with me in front of a crowd. Do you think I’m an idiot?!” He shouted, and Bond didn’t even bother flinching away from the too loud booming voice centimetres away from his face, ignoring the spittle best as he could.

Another slap, and before he could recompose himself, crude hands went for his belt, fumbling with the buckle before yanking it free. His fly came undone, and Bond squirmed.

“Friedrich…”

_Don’t fight back. Not now._

Friedrich climbed up, dropping his entire weight on top of Bond’s abdomen as he straddled the blond, grabbing his wrists and tying them to the foot of the bed above his head with the very belt he had just extracted.

“Friedrich,” Bond tried again, going for a placating tone, but Friedrich’s vice-like hold returned to his jaw, and that same damning sleeping mask was sufficiently shoved into his mouth, cutting off any other form of speech.

Trousers and pants shoved down, Bond could hear popping buttons scatter all around over the sound of his own pounding heart as his shirt was torn wide open.

“I’m going to take you, and you’re going to watch me claim your treacherous, _unfaithful_ arse, and you’re going to remember that I’m the only one who wants you now,” Friedrich snarled, grabbing a handful of his hair, forcing their eyes to clash. “Do you understand me? No one wants you but me, and I’m fucking you right here on the floor because you don’t Goddamn deserve any tenderness after all the shits you’ve just pulled. _None_.”

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

Q sighed, pushing his slipping glasses back up the bridge of his nose, and hit play again.

 _“How is this my being_ ridiculous _?”_

_“Answer me.”_

_“Are you denying it then?”_

The gravelled German pierced into his ears, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, the cushion suddenly feeling too plush against his skin, its leathery texture edging into him the wrong way.

M had said that seeing as this was a highly classified mission, it was best not to jump to the wrong conclusion from a singular, possibly isolated, incident, thus ruining any progress 007 had made.

It was an acceptable reasoning, but one that forced him to consider if this, their doing nothing about the insinuated abuse here, wasn’t them jumping to a wrong conclusion themselves after all.

The nail of his thumb was white as it rubbed it against the side of his forefinger, and Q bit the insides of his cheeks with yet another sigh, eyes darting to the running Smart Blood.

Bond’s heart rate had been elevated for some time.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

Sunlight pried through his eyelids, and Bond cracked his eyes open blearily, lashes feeling rather sticky as he did it. He was still gagged and tied up on the floor, body and jaw aching, rigid as a board.

A breath rushed out of his nostrils when a foot jabbed into his side.

“Awake?”

The back of his throat emitted a small, guttural sound as those fingers laced into his hair once more, tugging it forward.

“Good morning.” Friedrich resumed straddling him, the bruises littering his flesh all over smarting from the jostling. “How’s my favourite whore doing?”

Bond didn’t reply, not that he could at any rate.

And slowly, the mask was prized from his dry mouth. 

“Do you apologise for your bad behaviours?” came the quiet question as Bond silently peered up at Friedrich, exhausted.

Seconds ticked by before he allowed his chapped lips to move.

Sacrifices came with the job anyway.

“I apologise,” he whispered, voice barely audible.

“What for?” prompted Friedrich, one eyebrow raised, the expression on his face remained tightly shuttered.

Bond swallowed, barely finding the saliva to do so. “For hitting and arguing with you… for telling you to stop touching me.”

“And?”

“And for helping her.”

“ _Flirting_ ,” he corrected, but already, satisfaction was relinquishing in his appearance, and that harsh twist of his hand in Bond’s hair relaxed, the pads of his fingertips massaging his scalp in small circles. “Are you going to do those again?”

Bond closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Look at me,” the Schwarz snapped, and Bond did. “Are you going to do those things again?” he repeated.

Bond exhaled somewhat unsteadily. “No, Friedrich.”

“Excellent.”


	5. Rock at the Bottom of the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emerging effects, and extra help.

They didn’t hear from Bond for quite a time after that.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

“You’re awake?”

Lips brushed over the nape of his neck, and Bond suppressed the urge to shiver when the body behind snuggled closer, the arm draped around him tightening.

He hummed back in response, still tracing the rising sun beyond the clouds over the tree tops from afar.

“Can’t sleep again?”

“A bit,” Bond conceded in a murmur.

Friedrich propped himself on his elbow, keeping them pressed to one another. “Should I call a doctor?”

Bond shook his head. “It’s like this sometimes… I just need sleeping pills,” he muttered, giving that sentiment the time to sink in. “Are you going in to town today?” he chanced the question, and immediately felt Friedrich shift behind him.

“Why?” The brunette tried to keep his tone conversational, but the curt note didn’t go past Bond’s ears unnoticed.

“So I can go fetch the necessary meds?” Bond turned to look sideways at the Schwarz. “And maybe get some fresh air?”

“You can get fresh air here,” Friedrich pointed out rather tartly. “We live in the middle of nowhere.”

Stopping himself from rolling his eyes, Bond sighed. “Let me rephrase it: a change of scenery.”

“Why?”

It was an infuriating question.

“Because I used to go traveling everywhere, and now I’m here in these four walls… Willingly, of course,” he added that last part just so it didn’t sound like he was complaining. “But at least let me go _somewhere_ every once in a while.”

When Friedrich didn’t reply, he turned some more and whispered the final part of the deal, “I’ll only stick to the places that you approve of?”

Another stretch of silence with Friedrich still leaning heavily against him, probably a good sign, and Bond exhaled when the German finally sucked a bruise into the side of his neck.

“Fine,” Friedrich agreed, his hand trailing down to tease his partner’s sore entrance. “I do have some business to tend to there anyway.”

Bond, to an extent, could feel himself smiling as he arched somewhat. “Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

Bond didn’t feel better even after a shower, but he could understand why, considering that Friedrich had insisted on joining him. Friedrich, who had stepped out to answer a phone call and was then returning just as Bond was smoothing down his jacket, light grey this time.

“That’s why we need the upgrade,” he was finishing up the conversation, the mobile clutched between his ear and shoulder as he handed one of the glasses he was holding over to Bond.

Blinking, Bond took it, regarding the transparent, maroon-coloured drink with a slightly puzzled look.

“Pomegranate,” Friedrich mouthed, shifting the phone so it went back into his now free hand.

“Thank you,” Bond murmured with a quick nod, sipping the juice and not really tasting the fruity scent as he leaned back against the dresser, feigning disinterest at the ongoing, one-sided discussion.

“Okay,” Friedrich said, directing it to the person on the other end of the line this time. “Okay.” And he hung up.

Before Bond could ask, though, Friedrich had already closed in and stolen himself another kiss. “We’re having lunch with an associate of mine later, all right?”

With yet another nod, Bond suddenly found a finger tracing over his left cheekbone, where a blue, yellowing bruise still sat.

“Sorry I hit you so hard,” Friedrich whispered after a suspended second.

An apology for the severity, Bond mused. Not for the act itself.

He shook his head, not uttering a word until Friedrich picked up a pair of sunglasses and let them settle atop the bridge of Bond’s nose, the lenses just big enough to brilliantly cover the injury up.

 

* * *

 

Bond relayed as much information as he could in the short amount of time that he had managed to garner, hoping the minions back in Q-Branch wouldn’t misinterpret the codes and the translations. But, if anything, he supposed he trusted Q not to allow such a misstep to happen.

The sun was rising high in the sky by the time Bond headed back to where Friedrich was waiting for him in front of the chemist, already wondering just how much of the drug he could slip to the Schwarz, just so maybe he’d have the opportunity to move around during night-time whilst everybody slept.

“Got what you need, love?” Friedrich asked, one arm easily reaching out to wrap around Bond’s waist.

Bond shifted, but didn’t move away, as he shrugged. “I guess. A shame they don’t have a stronger dose over the counter.”

“You don’t need a stronger dose,” Friedrich stated in his ever so familiar no-nonsense tone. “There are ways we can try to help you sleep without depending on the meds.”

There was a suggestive leer from him by the end of that sentence, but Bond pretended not to see it as he pocketed the pot. “Sounds promising.” He smiled. Well, at least he didn’t need to put on an act about his distaste toward medications, or anything medical-related for that matter. 

Instead of taking the car, which was no longer within sight, Bond noted, they began walking down along the sun-bathed pavement, mingling with other pedestrians, another lunch crowd as it was, with people in a mild rush to get to where they needed to be so they could return to their jobs and other obligations in time.

“There’s a bistro just around the corner,” Friedrich informed him, and Bond vaguely nodded, observing his surroundings. “We’re having lunch there.”

“Ah…” Bond breathed, despite having already guessed that, adjusting the glasses again. “It’s nice weather out today,” he commented with a light tone, receiving a hum in turn.

“Maybe a table outside then?”

“Good idea.” Exactly what he wanted, in fact.

 

* * *

 

In the end, Bond ordered himself a grilled summer vegetable sandwich, just to shuffle things up a little, when Friedrich placed his own order and settled back, watching as their waiter uncorked the wine and poured them each a glass, the red liquid glinting a vibrant hue under the natural sunlight.

He didn’t need to look to know that Friedrich was keenly observing him and his actions. And Bond hated that slight clench in his stomach at the thought. Quickly, he waved it away, as he did with so many other things in his life also.

Out of the blue, a thumb found its way onto his cheek again, pressing against that bruise once more, utilising a sharper force than the time before.

“Take off your glasses.”

Bond raised an eyebrow at him for this, and was countered with an equally pointed gaze, one that he couldn’t actually afford to not yield to, not right then. And so he obliged.

The glasses were folded and set on the table, earning a smile from Friedrich, the satisfaction apparent in the upward quirks of his lips.

To Friedrich, that bruise wasn’t a mark of inflicted pain—it was a mark of ownership.

Bond supposed any sane, normal person would be worried about this realisation. But, to be fair, he wasn’t exactly sane, nor had he ever been deemed as ‘normal’ either, whatever that meant.

Besides which, he had a mission to complete here at any rate.

And so, silence stretched with them remaining there waiting for the food and expected company, Friedrich’s hand stroking softly along his partner’s knee, whereas Bond kept himself firmly in place the whole while, tolerating the touch.

From afar, moments later, Bond could see Charles striding over with someone behind him.

Someone with a head full of thick curls, a healthy sheen to them under the rays of sunlight.

Bond reached for his glass of wine, and Friedrich, busy waving the two figures over, didn’t noticed how the blond man was probably holding the stem a tad too tightly even as he sniffed and allowed the luscious red liquid to lick at his lips and tongue with practised calm.

“Sorry for the delay,” Charles said with a smile, sidling into his seat with a sigh. “They blocked off a section of street, and we had to take the roundabout way here.” He waved the newcomer over to sit down at the table with them. “Folks, this is Solomon Attwood. Solomon, that’s Friedrich Schwarz, my friend, and his partner, Richard Sterling.”

Grey-green eyes swept over them both, and with a polite smile, Solomon extended a hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr Schwarz.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Mr Attwood. And call me Friedrich; everyone does.”

They shook hand firmly. “Then you must call me Solomon, Friedrich.” He turned to Bond. “The same goes for you, too, Mr Sterling.”

He could almost feel Solomon’s keen gaze sliding over his bruise, as though a solid presence, before focusing on his eyes.

Bond smiled, an automatic gesture, taking the offered hand himself. “Richard,” he said, voice fluid.

“Pleased to meet you, too, Richard,” Q replied, seeming almost at ease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, Q is personally stepping into the game. 
> 
> ~~And every story needs brief mentions of Greek mythology... Although, I admit, symbolism aside, this one is just a little weird.~~
> 
> More to come!


	6. The Art of Craftsmanship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q begins weaving himself into the mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Lunar New Year, everyone! Whether you're celebrating it or not, I hope you all have a great time.

The first thing he noticed right off the bat, was that bruise on Bond’s face.

What the fuck happened here?

But Q sat down at the table with an easy smile that belied the butterflies in his stomach—he had had to keep a straight face through worse anyway. Hazard of the job, as it was. A panicking Quartermaster did no one any good, especially the agents that required steady, level-headed assistance.

Much like what was happening right then.

He sat down on the remaining chair between Friedrich and Charles, and ordered lunch for himself as well.

“How was your flight here?” Friedrich asked casually, one hand settling on Bond’s knee under the table, a movement obvious enough that it was borderline intentional.

“Not too bad I supposed,” he shrugged.

“Uncomfortable with flying?”

It was Bond who asked, seemingly casual. For a moment there, Q thought he saw a flash of minute, secretive amusement in the way how those lips quirked up at the end of that query, but it was gone so fast that he couldn’t entirely be sure.

“Well, you can’t never be too confident at 30 thousand feet in the air inside what is essentially a metal box with engines attached to it,” he sniffed, and smirked at the laughter that aroused from the other men.

“True, that,” Friedrich agreed with a lingering chuckle just as Bond and Friedrich’s food arrived. But instead of waiting, like Bond was doing right then, keeping his reclined position, the Schwarz began tucking into his lamb, knife slicing right through the medium-rare, tender meat, its red juice flowing out from the cut. “I appreciate your humour, Solomon.”

Q nodded his head, taking it as though a compliment, observing as Friedrich leaned over to Bond and said, “He’s going to help us upgrade the technology of our system.”

“The only one capable among us, then,” Bond replied in that same light tone from before, earning himself a smile.

Truth be told, the reason why Q was able to be there at all was the wide-open opportunity that Bond had given him, and Q wouldn’t be surprised if that had been the agent’s plan all along.

After all of their orchestrated strikes against the Schwarz’s network, the holes left behind all indicated, if not screamed, that they needed a system upgrading in regards to security and information protection. This was where Q stepped in (as he would be most suitable to assess and act on MI6’s best interests when it came down to decision-making without needing to go through the process of having the judgement relayed and approved by the Head of Security, which was him at any rate). If they played this correctly, the mission might end sooner than anyone had initially thought.

And by the bruise on Bond’s face, which could only be described as nasty, that couldn’t come soon enough.

They continued to talk their business over as lunch progressed, although as time went on, Q couldn’t but note that Bond talked less and less, listening more and only commenting on certain things to steer the flow toward something that would perhaps be more beneficial to them.

It was a good tactic, and the man was charming as always (even if Q would hardly ever admit that aloud). But there was something… cautious about the way he was poking at this as well, not unlike how one would be careful in picking up an obviously hot object.

Considering everything, it was probably understandable, he supposed. The entire family was loaded with dangerous individuals who handled dealings in arms, drugs, bars and clubs, and even in selling sensitive information also. Each gear performed its own part, and it was a machine that had to be taken down, one way or another.

 

* * *

 

The trip back to the house with his eyes covered left Q with a distinct sense of jostled vertigo as he squinted through the light-headedness and sudden change in lighting to make out the large manor house with its wide open front yard and tall surrounding trees.

There was even a small pond.

Children were playing outside, and the moment they stepped out from the car, almost the entire lot ran over to Friedrich, who laughed and patted their heads and led the way back inside. Q followed them, but out of the corner of his eyes, he could see a young child, slightly older than the rest of them, approach Bond, looking shy and hesitant.

“Hi, Georg. You been good?” Bond initiated with a small smile and a brief ruffle on the kid’s head, then dug one hand into his pocket for something, before holding it out for little Georg, who held up his small hands in puzzlement.

It turned out to be candies, all neatly concealed behind layers of colourful wrappers, and Georg’s face lit up with clear surprised delight just as Bond winked, that ever half-smile on his lips, and walked away after receiving a flush thank you.

Q blinked: Somehow, it never crossed his mind that Bond might perhaps be good with kids. Although the child did seem like he was one of those isolated individuals, for whatever unfortunate reason…

“Since Charles has some business to tend to, I’ll show you around the house, Solomon,” Friedrich said with a generous smile, turning back to Bond. “And you go rest.”

“I can accompany—…” Bond began and was swiftly cut off.

“No. You barely slept last night. Go.”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “You noticed that?”

Whether Friedrich chose to ignore the sarcasm or just didn’t pick it up altogether, was unclear to Q.

Instead, he replied, “Of course,” with a dismissal wave. “Now, go.”

Bond shifted a little, and it took a second before he nodded. “Okay,” he muttered with an intake of breath. “I’ll see you later then, Solomon.”

Q returned the given nod as Bond brushed past them and jogged off toward the staircase, heading upward.

“Never mind him,” the head of the Schwarz muttered suddenly. “The stubbornness is endearing, but sometimes, he’s just too obstinate for his own good.”

“Oh…” Q breathed, brows knitting together.

“Been trying to help him rid himself of that, but well,” Friedrich shrugged and turned away, murmuring the rest more to himself, “everything takes time.”

And Q didn’t need to know exactly what had transpired to have his suspicion confirmed right there and then.

 

* * *

 

They wanted him to update the security of the manor first—a test obviously, before handing anything else sensitive over. He was given a tour, promised a layout out of the place, and asked to just tell Ella what he needed to receive necessary funding for this; once that was done, Charles would help him obtain the equipment.

Other than that, he was to stay at the manor for the duration of this assignment, for convenience’s sake, and was given a room at the end of the hall on the same floor as what had been introduced as Friedrich and Bond’s bedroom, along with a schedule for meal times.

Speaking of Bond, he hadn’t seen the agent since back when Friedrich had literally ordered him to leave them be for the time being.

Q sighed and took off his coat before sitting down at the edge of the bed.

It was strange to see Bond actually following orders for once, but then again, this _was_ a mission. And being as stubborn as he was with everything else, it would be even harder to imagine Bond not allowing himself to complete, or finish, at the very least, a mission as best as he could… so maybe he shouldn’t really feel at all that surprised.

It was the sort of pride that every one of them had, Q supposed, agents or Quartermaster or just minions in Q-Branch. They all took some form of pride in their jobs.

Q spotted his messenger bag, which had been _kindly_ taken and brought up here by one of the helpers, and retrieved it. Obviously, they couldn’t have found anything unsavoury about it, or he most probably wouldn’t still be there to wonder about it in the first place.

Sighing, Q opened his laptop and, with nimble fingers, pried out the mini listening devices he had recently developed from their hiding places.

 

* * *

  

* * *

 

It was a large family, many of whose faces he hadn’t seen, but nothing short of Q’s expectation. The drift between them was clear, despite each individual’s attempt at warmly welcoming him in.

But well, he disliked Ella, that much he knew, not even after a full conversation with her.

The noises of separate discussions died down when the distinct sound of clicking heels on the floor rang up from down the hallway. It sounded similar enough to Eve’s own stilettos that he hardly could have confused the noise with anything else.

“Ah…” sighed Ella, wistfully so, twirling a lock of hair with her manicured fingers. “Here comes the lady of the house. Always has to make an entrance.” She then proceeded to snigger, as did her husband, before adjusting her boy to sit still on his high chair.

Q raised an eyebrow. So far, he had only noticed Bond and Friedrich missing from the scene. Was there another family member that he wasn’t aware of?

And so, bearing that thought in mind with the approaching footsteps, Q turned to the door for a better look, and what he saw paused him.

Bond was wearing a dress, a wig of long blond hair on his head, and in high heels.

And something inside of Q suddenly twisted at the sight: in a full undercover, embedded mission like this, where did the personal limitations of an agent end and the role he played begin?

Of course all agents, especially Double-Os, were trained to essentially discard themselves and be comfortable and agile in all situations. Good agents spun their parts well.

But in the end, beyond the aliases and code numbers and expected duties, they were still individuals themselves, with their own beliefs and thought processes and preferences, no matter how deeply buried those things might be.

It wasn’t a wonder that most highly advanced agents barely ever made it past their psyche tests with decent scores; Q had known this for a long time now, since he had been made head of Q-Branch and in charge of these operatives, to be honest. Although it would be a lie if he said he hadn’t felt the sentiment rather keenly then, even more so with how Bond was pointedly avoiding eye contact with him as the pair settled down into their seats at the table.

“Ah, Janette,” Ella piqued up again, her shrill voice jabbing into his eardrums. “How’s your _bruise_?” She was talking to Bond.

“Not any better with your high voice trying to deafen me, but thank you for your concern anyway, Ella.”

The table laughed at that, and Q regarded Bond, slowly quirking a smile at that himself.


	7. Across the Moors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no cause without effects—it's only a matter of whether one can perceive it or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Non-graphic descriptions of sex ahead.

When he was young, he remembered running across the moors, winding his legs up as fast as they could go, feeling the brisk and crisp air rushing to expand his shuttering lungs and clenching stomach. He remembered grinning so widely at the naughty idea of skipping homework and just dashing to the nearby town to walk around the streets and visit the interesting shops.

His family had a mansion and an entire vast land to themselves. He didn’t play with anyone else, and no one played with him.

It was how things were.

Once all the tricks and spectacles were over, they would all go away and stayed away.

In truth, he kept himself busy with foolish entertainment and daredevil stunts (because why not?), and so he hadn’t felt lonely, not really. Maybe resentful, but that was more toward the house than anything. Why this was, he hadn’t quiet figured it out—perhaps the place had been too large, too ancient and dusty for an only child. He didn’t delve much on the thought anyway.

Nothing had ever seemed out of place though. Nothing from the guns, to hunting and skinning games, to how he usually saw their gamekeeper and his wife more than he did his parents in the summers, and even down to his not having friends as well, real and worthwhile ones, that was.

_You hardly ever questioned something that had been your reality right from the start._

He remembered how he would sometimes take out the pennies of his savings and just go straight to the candy store to buy himself some. Mother had these beautiful boxes of treats that she brought back from foreign lands, but childish urges were still childish, and that high of smuggling away sweets in a tiny tint box tucked away at the back of a drawer, the satisfaction of defying adults, had been irresistible.

Not that they hadn’t loved him, his parents. They seemed to have adored him whenever they were around, but that was just it: they hadn’t been around that often.

When he slipped from that high tree branch he had been occupying, darkness engulfed him, the pomegranate sliding from his grasp, red seeds spilling into the gaping void from its split open gut.

 

* * *

 

Bond woke with a soft intake of breath, the hazy images of the still lingering dream breathed along the walls of his skulls like fog.

Why he dreamt about that, he couldn’t quite grasp... it had been too long (the genuine memories, not the sudden fall at the end, not the pomegranate), and he had left that place behind him already.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

More crashing and yelling, and with Friedrich refusing to leave just yet, Bond was trying not to scowl outright. Apparently, Ella and Francis were fighting, again, and while the fact made him feel rather gleeful, the amount of noises didn’t. But it happened every once in a while, like clockwork, so no one in the family intervened anymore. Or maybe no one liked them enough to bother, but that was a whole different matter altogether.

Then, just as he was on the cusp of another sigh, there came a knock on the door, and Bond stood up to answer it, wanting to at least have a break from pretending to be reading an article that he had no interest in.

Q was on the other side of that door.

“Eh… Is Friedrich in?” the young man asked while adjusting his glasses.

There was a momentary pause. “Friedrich,” Bond called over his shoulder. “Solomon’s looking for you.”

Solomon. Bond couldn’t but wonder if there had been any particular reason why Q had chosen that specific name.

“Yes?” Friedrich came out, brushing off non-existent wrinkles from his shirt, as Bond turned to go back inside.

“Sorry to bother you,” Q said. “But I can’t really concentrate with all the noises.”

His room was right above the fighting couple’s.

“Oh, okay,” Friedrich went past Q. “Don’t worry. I’ll have a word with them.” Then he was off, the door clicking shut.

Even so, Bond couldn’t say he was surprised to find Q still standing there when he turned around.

“What are you doing here?” Bond asked, his voice a low murmur, watching as the Quartermaster wandered farther in, his hand trailing along the edge of the dresser leaning against the wall opposite the bed.

“You know why I’m here, Bond,” Q muttered back, voice equally as quiet. “You planned for this opening.”

“Yes, but I didn’t plan to see _you_ here.”

“You’d rather it be someone else then?” Q quipped, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow.

Bond frowned back, but said nothing in reply to that. Honestly, he wanted no one else to be here, but it had come to a point where, if he hadn’t steered their efforts in bringing this organisation down as such, this would probably take far too long. The tension was already there in the family, and with them aggravating those problems, it would fast develop to a critical stage, just right for a final strike.

“We need to find a reason for us to start meeting more often,” Bond began, listening carefully to the dying noises. “Then I’ll fill you in on the necessary information, and we can figure out a plan. Now, go.”

Q opened his mouth then, looking as though he was about to say something before closing it with a jerky nod. “Okay,” he mumbled and turned to leave.

 

* * *

 

Q returned to his room and went to his laptop, chewing on his lip a little as he began typing in the pass code and activation sequence, plugging in his earphones for this.

 _“Did I just see Solomon coming out of the room?”_ Friedrich’s voice filtered through, loud and clear.

 _“Yes,”_ was Bond’s calm reply.

_“Why?”_

_“Why what, Friedrich?”_ Q could almost see Bond’s frown.

_“Why didn’t he leave right away when I did?”_

Even Bond’s sigh was undistorted. _“Because he was curious. He said he didn’t think I was the type to cross-dress.”_ The lie rolled easily off of Bond’s tongue.

 _“Really, now.”_ Friedrich sounded sceptical.

_“You can ask him if you want to.”_

Silence washed over the transmitter after that, and Q suddenly realised he had been holding his breath.

 _“Come here,”_ Friedrich ordered, and the soft shuffling sounds that sufficiently followed indicated that Bond was doing as he was told. _“Kneel.”_ There was a soft thump. _“You’re mine; do you understand that?”_

_“Yes, Friedrich.”_

_“No one else can touch you.”_

_“No one,”_ Bond agreed softly, and Q thought he could hear a note of strain in the man’s tone.

 _“Good,”_ Friedrich purred, sending gooseflesh rising all over Q’s body. _“Good girl.”_ He chuckled. _“Now, use your pretty pouty mouth to suck me off.”_

With clenched jaw, he disconnected the program.

 

* * *

 

Twenty minutes later, Q allowed Bond into his room with the man looking over his shoulder one more time before entering. He pretended as though he had heard nothing of what had transpired, despite the niggling of questions that nudged at the back of his mind from time to time. Questions that really didn’t matter and shouldn’t be asked, that was.

“We have roughly two to three hours,” the man informed him, his eyes darting to the closed curtains and heading over there to check for visibility beyond the windows. Once satisfied, he turned back to Q. “I’ll tell you about the extended family.”

Nodding, Q was already opening the compiled profile he had, along with series of captured photos of people whom they hadn’t yet able to identify fully. Bond needed no cue and began telling Q all the information he had managed to gather which turned out to be quite a hefty load.

Originally, aside from Friedrich’s father, Klaus, there was one eldest brother Stefan, then a younger sister, Katherina, and a last child, Richard, or Dicky, per his nickname. Strangely enough, none of these people had made it alive to that day, with Klaus being the last one to go just two years previously.

Under Friedrich, Ella and her husband were the bookkeepers around here, or it was mostly Ella’s job at any rate, other than participating in the security planning as well, alongside Friedrich and Charles.

Jonathan, the third sibling, who expressed his dislike for Ella without much remorse, dealt specifically in arms and various other equipment. They had a number of small warehouses littered all around town and a couple of secluded areas. Bond could name a few of these places, but the rest remained unknown as of yet.

The youngest sibling, Heinz, was pursuing a higher education (unlike his brothers and sister) and mostly kept to his wife, Beatrix. But, since he was the youngest, he could sometimes be manipulated into third-party participation, as in doing things that might or might not aid his family’s crime business. Still a weak link in the family.

Anne, the aunt of all four of them, was the information and old connections bank and had two children. The elder one, Patrick, was a full Schwarz in the sense of dipping himself into the family’s business, specialized in obtaining and distributing drugs, working mostly in the bars and clubs that Friedrich ran. His younger sister, Rosa, however, was a mystery to Bond. He hardly had ever seen her, and according to what he had managed to sniff out, something had driven her away from the house, only coming back to see her mother every once in a while and none other. It might or might not be a significant piece to this. As for Anne’s husband, Dicky, he died a while back himself, before Klaus, but his friend, Oskar, still dropped by regularly to help Anne.

Georg, that eleven-year-old kid whom Bond had given candies the day before, was supposedly the ‘legitimate’ hair of this entire Schwarz legacy, because he was Stefan’s son—Stefan, whose first wife died before sharing any offspring with him, didn’t marry Natalie, Georg’s mother, later on in life. Apparently, Georg had been born right within the year of Stefan’s death, hence his young age. However, young or not, he still somehow posed a threat to Friedrich’s power, and so was more or less isolated from the rest of the family with his mother, though Q could hardly imagine this being a bad thing for them.

Less of a chance of dying without an obvious cause along the way, to be honest.

Finally, Charles, possibly the most sensible out of the whole lot of them (even if he still worked for the family), was Head of Security, leaning more on the implementation side of things. He had a wife named Kim, and these two, along with Friedrich, were childhood friends.

“Kim, if I’m correct, is the one Friedrich asks to recheck the bookkeeping for him,” Bond muttered, a certain tilt to his voice.

Q perked up, connecting the dots quickly. “So, Friedrich doesn’t trust Ella.”

The smirk that unfurled on Bond’s lips made his stomach flutter a little. “Not at all. He just doesn’t have something major enough to kick her out of the picture yet.”

“I see,” Q returned the smirk in kind, adjusting his glasses. “Interesting.”

This family had quite a lot of skeletons in the closet… possibly in the literal sense of that as well.

Suddenly, Bond moved from where he was over to the window again, peering through that tiny gap between the curtains, then turned back to Q. He had been a little restless, with good reasons, if that bruise and Friedrich’s possessive streak were anything to go by.

“The study where they keep all the archives is on the second floor.” The one above them. “But it’s almost always occupied, and helpers take turn watching over it during the night as well.” Bond sounded as exasperated as he looked.

Q shifted and reached for the layout that he had been given to open it. “The ventilation system is small and old,” he murmured to himself, scanning the plan.

Silence befell them, and it was a while before Q spoke up once more. “Why didn’t you inform us of how he is?”

Bond snorted. “And what would you have done? Pull me out?” The quirk of his lips was cold and cruel, perhaps more to himself than anything. “It’s an occupational hazard, _Solomon_.”

Q’s lips pressed to a thin line. “We could have tried to push the process faster.”

The agent shook his head. “Hardly. It isn’t the sort of operation where you can afford that sort of thing.”

Second went by, because that was nothing for Q to disagree upon, and Bond just shrugged. “I need to go.” It was clear that he had been growing rather jumpy, eyes fluttering out the window once more. “We’ll continue this later.”

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

“It’s a closed circuit, you see,” Q was showing Charles the new system he had built. “So anyone who wants to hack into it _has_ to be right here and needs to have access to the motherboard.”

Charles’s nodded in understanding. “I see. And aside from your firewalls—” he had done his homework, then, “—we just to secure this room tightly.”

It was Q’s turn to nod. “I’ll run wires and have cameras set up in here 24/7, and will extend it to the rest of the household. We’ll need a monitor room, and of course you’ll be the one overseeing it. I’ll create a password-protected system only selected individuals, based on your own discretion, can get through.”

The structure was easy enough; it was setting up everything in this old, creaking house that would later on prove to be a challenge.

But well, if he had managed to modify those rat infested tunnels in Churchill’s bunker, this shouldn’t be too difficult.

“That sounds brilliant.” Charles grinned. “Good thing we managed to hire you then.”

Q shrugged. “I’m just glad I made it here.” More than he would ever readily admit to anyone. His thoughts wandered suddenly to Bond, but he shook it away.

“Avoiding the authorities could be tricky, huh?” Charles muttered in a knowing voice.

“It has its perks.” Q looked to the other man. “How’s your wife?”

He had met Charles’s wife, Kim, once a few days ago, she was pregnant and was showing from the looks of it.

“Oh, she’s doing well, thank you,” Charles replied happily.

There were instances where Q wondered how this man could be the one involved in any of this at all, before he caught himself with an ever recurring knowledge that a person didn’t need to be a dick like Friedrich to be doing bad deeds.

But then again, they had all done bad deeds, the Schwarzs, Bond, Q himself… it was only a matter of in whose names had they done them, and what they told themselves at night to make them sleep better.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

Bond leant back in his chair out in the balcony, pretending to read a book and eating breakfast, as he listened to the conversation that was going on inside between Q and Friedrich after having been specifically told to ‘stay here.’

Because in this household, he wasn’t really a man, and there was still this mentality (extending even beyond this family and the semi-remote area they lived in) that anyone who wasn’t a man shouldn’t be meddling into supposedly serious business.

At least bloody Friedrich wasn’t particular about him reading books.

Q was playing along well though, and at least that should be considered a blessing in a situation such as this.

Once the conversation was done, Q left and Friedrich was back to his seat out on the balcony, and Bond kept pretending to read his book.

“Aren’t you going to ask?” Friedrich spoke up once the silence stretched out long enough.

Bond perked up and blinked slowly, closing the novel without marking the page. “Ask what?” He forced himself to smile.

“Well…” Friedrich shrugged. “You’re usually curious.”

“I am,” Bond agreed, picking at a grape and popping it into the other man’s mouth, waving away the image of shoving his fist in all the way down along with the fruit. “But I know you’ll tell me if you deem it important enough, too.”

There was a flash of something in Friedrich’s eyes, something _pleased_ , and the feral smile, wide and all teeth, showed it.

Bond had learnt his place.

They shared a kiss, then two, which turned into slightly rough sex with Bond’s face buried in the pillows—a mercy—the bed creaking beneath them with every thrust Friedrich delivered.

The moans that came out of his mouth sounded disembodied and disconnected to Bond, but that was nothing strange, and so injected passion into it, toning his muscles to pull and body to arch just the right way that got the Schwarz wild, exerting himself further, _faster_.

In the aftermath of it, Bond lay shivering in the soiled sheets, chest heaving up and down, as he stared blankly up the ceiling, cooling cum on his stomach. Friedrich called this the blissed-out and well-fucked expression, and Bond had vowed make the bastard eat his words one of these days, very soon.

For now, he let Friedrich kiss him and didn’t flinch away.

“Solomon said,” Friedrich purred, playing with Bond’s hair like he would a pet, “he wanted a workshop, and since we don’t have a basement—” lies, they did. They just didn’t want to expose the kept safes tucked away inside of it, “—I told him we’d build him one right next to the house.”

“Ah…” Bond nodded, feigning disinterest as he nuzzled into the crook of Friedrich’s neck.

“And I was thinking,” Friedrich continued, voice more soft and quiet than Bond had expected. “If you would help me oversee that? Charlie and I have been up to our ears in things to do.”

Bond’s mind was winding quickly at this, and he told himself to play it cool when he looked up at Friedrich.

“You do—you want me to help?” Bond asked, hiding the cautious tone in his voice.

“Of course. Why would I ask otherwise?” Friedrich raised an eyebrow.

Bond licked his lips. “I’m glad then.”

“And why is that?” Friedrich shifted so they were face-to-face.

“Because it shows that I finally have your trust.”

When Bond smiled, Friedrich returned it with a heated growl and devoured his kiss-swollen lips once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Greek mythology referencing, but well... I can't help myself. 
> 
> Read and review, everyone. Thank you for all your support.


	8. Old Lessons, New Tides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You only reap something new from an already learnt lesson when you yourself have changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally back with a new chapter after one full year of being on hiatus. Many apologies, I don't intend on abandoning this series because I still think about it too much, but I had to take a necessary break because of my own situation. I will be updating regularly from now on (no fixed schedule yet!), so, to anyone who still sticks around and to any newcomers, I hope you will continue to enjoy this series, twisted though it may. 
> 
> _**WARNING**_ : **GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION of SEX** ahead. You have been warned.

It was a hot day, and while the sea would always have a special place in his heart, being the man who graduated from the Royal Navy that he was, Bond was gladly outside making use of his muscles rather than just exercising them every day, and he wasn’t about to complain any time soon.

The workshop, or the shed that would become it anyway, would be made out of plywood, and once the sizing had been ‘approved’ and the materials bought, Bond was actually building it with his own hands. And somehow, Friedrich had deemed everything okay so far, even if it would obviously take extra time and efforts to complete this small structure through this approach.

_(“I like it,” Friedrich said, a low purr to his voice. It was the hunger in his eyes that singed at Bond’s nerves more than the way those hands were reaching for his own, squeezing. “Watching you work with such an intensity, sweating away with your muscles flexing… It’s quite hot, actually.”)_

Q came over, cheeks a little flushed under the heat despite the wide-brimmed hat on his head that did manage to shield most of his face away from the sun. His hand held a simple blueprint of how he had envisioned this workshop to turn out, the layout more or less acting as an obvious excuse as to why he was talking to Bond in the first place.

Friedrich’s impossible jealous streak was not lost on anyone.

“Need some help?” Q said, just a bit louder than normal for all listening ears to hear, as he got close enough.

Bond stopped to wipe his hands with the towel he had had one end tucked at his jeans’ waistband. “Depends,” he replied. “Are things going as planned?”

When Q stopped, he was one step away as he rolled out the piece of paper in front of them, its surface reflecting sunlight in all its intensity. Honestly, even Bond had to squint a little to adjust his eyes to the sudden brightness, but then again, it was just a mere ruse.

“I’ve secured you entrance,” Q whispered. “Are you sure you don’t want me to just do it?”

Bond’s brows twitched. There was a flare of something in the pit of his stomach, and he leant in to whisper back the same answer he had given before, “Yes. I told you, I know what to look for.”

“Is everything according to plan?” A voice came from behind them, and it took an immense exercise of control for neither to have jumped.

Bond turned slowly enough to make the motion seem casual, and looked over his shoulder: it was Charles.

“Yes,” Q replied, smiling. “I was just wondering if we can add one more window at this end.” He pointed at the layout for Charles, who was leaning in also, to see. “So more natural light can get in. That can save quite a bit of energy during the day.”

“Of course we can.” Charles nodded after a second or so of thinking, laughing a little. “But really, don’t worry too much about energy saving. We’ve got you covered. We’re not _that_ stingy, you know.”

They laughed, and Bond reached to accept one of the cold cans of soda that Charles had gone and fetched for them with a murmured ‘thank you.’ He opened it, listening to the crisp sound of metal popping, the compressed gas inside hissing the second it clambered its way out, and downed the content without tasting it. For hydration.

The reason why this wasn’t a beer, Bond thought, was because Friedrich was hellbent on trying to make sure Bond—or rather, Richard Sterling—wouldn’t go back to his old way of being an alcoholic like he had been when they first met.

For someone who beat his lover black and blue out of jealousy ( _“How’s my favourite whore doing?”_ ), the Schwarz was quite keen on maintaining good health.

Bond couldn’t but smile at such irony.

 

* * *

 

They had lunch up in their room, and while Friedrich had never been one for many words (unless he was in one of his temper fits), the fact that he was there at all grazed uncomfortably at Bond’s nerves, considering that he was more or less used to having at least this bit of time to himself.

He kept his leg still when Friedrich’s foot brushed at his ankle, massaging almost absently along the protruding curve of bone.

“You seem to have gotten close with Solomon,” the Schwarz began in an entirely too benign a hum, and didn’t look up at Bond from the newspaper he was reading until a second or so later.

Bond shrugged, calibrating his body language carefully, the implication of that statement just now not lost on him. He told himself that he didn’t want to botch this mission, especially after all the efforts he had put into it, but a small voice in the back of his mind whispered that he didn’t want to receive yet another smacking.

Because were that to happen, Bond couldn’t guarantee that he would be able to stop himself well enough from breaking Friedrich’s neck on the spot.

“I’m helping him build his workshop,” he replied. “We need to maintain some sort of communication for things to go smoothly.” He paused, thinking his words through, then pulled his lips up into a smile. “I do appreciate the physical workout.”

Friedrich was watching him, blinking slowly as he did so. And Bond waited… hints of anxiety despicable in his roiling gut—the emotional reaction of a vermin like Friedrich shouldn’t be given this much effect… shouldn’t have the sense of a final judgment like this.

“Come.” Friedrich stood and let his newspaper fall down haphazardly on the seat he had just occupied.

There was a devious smile on his lips, one that Bond knew only promised trouble.

 

* * *

 

‘Lunch time’ ended roughly thirty minutes before, and Charles had gotten them back to work once he had decided that they should probably stop waiting for Bond and focus on finishing what they could first instead.

Q found his stomach clenching. The severe bruise on Bond’s cheek had yet to even properly heal, and knowing how that had come to be… he just couldn’t allow his conscience to rest easy at the man’s sudden absence.

The only thing he could hope for was that everything was okay because the thought of Bond, or anyone at all, enduring physical abuse not because he couldn’t think of a safe way out, but because he _had to_ , because he had a mission to complete…

“Fritz?”

Q jerked out of his reverie and caught Friedrich Schwarz jogging towards them out of the corner of his eye.

Bond was nowhere in sight.

“Hello, hello. Apologies for the delay.” Friedrich smiled as he came to a stop and slid his hands into his trousers’ pockets. “Richard must’ve pulled a muscle or something while he was working, so he’s taking it easy for the rest of the day, and therefore, you two are stuck with me, unfortunately.”

“Oh no.” Charles looked genuinely concerned. “Will he be all right?”

Friedrich’s responding shark-like grin had Q’s skin crawling. “Yes. I made sure that he was as comfortable as he could be. He’ll be right as rain tomorrow, I think.”

Q bit the insides of his cheeks and forced a small smile. He didn’t know this man enough to read his tells or expressions accurately, but no observable detail seemed out of the ordinary so far, no sign of any recent scuffle, and perhaps that was a blessing in and of itself. “That’s good to know.”

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

Bond groaned with a sharp intake of breath when the vibrator changed to yet a different setting, hovering tantalisingly close to his prostate but never quite _right_. The ball gag sitting uncomfortably atop his tongue and behind his teeth shifted as he tried to swallow, causing another hint of saliva to dribble down the corner of his mouth.

He tugged uselessly once more at the leather strips that were then trapping his hands and legs in place, and let out a shaky sigh when nothing refused to give yet again, as expected.

Bound and gagged was one thing (he had had sex with too many marks not to have done this before, even if he had kept such experiences to a minimal), but to be blindfolded with his ears plugged, too, on top of all that, was something else entirely.

He had no control whatsoever, and was no more than a sitting duck left to the elements like this.

Not that he hadn’t realised that his own helplessness was the whole point of going through all the trouble of cooing and coaxing him into doing this in the first place. Friedrich thrived on power and absolute control, and whenever he felt his status challenged, he would do whatever he deemed necessary to reassert himself. And in this instance, while it appeared that the Schwarz hadn’t really perceived any immediate threat, he had thought it suitable to give Bond a proper and thorough ‘reminder’ of who he was, what he was, and whom he belonged to.

Even though Bond had agreed to this (if only so he could maintain the current sense of false security in Friedrich for what he and Q were about to do next), it still didn’t stop his instincts from screaming that he could neither see nor hear a thing in this state of imposed immobility.

The muscles in his body itched a little from being held steadfast on his back for god-knew-how-long now, thighs wide apart, spread and naked and exposed. Nerves high-strung, he could feel almost too keenly the throbbing arousal pent up in his groin, and his cock gave a futile twitch as it continued to spill more precum to join the already pooling mess on his stomach.

He tried to swallow again, thumping heartbeats loud in the cavity of his chest and blood too hot in his veins. The toy was no doubt meant to be a tease, but the volume of its vibration was decent, and with this new rapid pace rendering him increasingly desperate, he tried to arch into it, tried to have his wall and perineum massaged more. Just a bit more.

That was when he felt a sharp tweak to his nipple, and Bond froze before yanking at his restraints out of reflexes to get away, only to have the leather dig into his flesh that much worse.

He hadn’t noticed it… couldn’t see or hear another presence coming up so close to him.

One of his ear popped when the plug on its side was abruptly removed.

“It’s only me, love.” Friedrich’s whisper rang and collided against his eardrum, ghosting breaths sending shivers up his spine.

Bond tried to respond, but the words garbled in his throat until a hand settled upon his neck, vulnerable and bare, one thumb stroking along his bobbing Adam’s apple.

“Shh… Relax. It’s just me.”

But really, that was the most problematic aspect of it all, and Bond worked to even his breathing out.

The sheer powerlessness, of having his physical control so sufficiently stripped away, was quickly narrowing his perception of their immediate surroundings down. It was not unlike being squeezed through a narrow tube, and his body was working itself into overdrive to make up for lost sensory information by focusing on everything else it could: the stimulation.

Which ensured that Bond couldn’t stay unattached… which made it personal.

He couldn’t force his mind to wander off to a safe corner and wait until the storm cleared like he had always done, every attempt ruined the moment a sudden change arrived and consumed his attention whole, imprinting against his nerve ends.

“Look at you,” Friedrich breathed, hands tracing mindless, reverent patterns along Bond’s chest. “So flushed for me. So beautiful… So _wet_.”

One hand wrapped around his cock, and Bond bucked before he could stop himself, grunting when there was only a slight squeeze with no other movement of any kind.

“You want to cum so bad, don’t you. Rock hard and dripping like a whore. But here’s the thing…” His voice was right next to Bond’s ear now, hissing, lips brushing over the shell with every word they formed. The harsh breaths sent twisted tingles down along his neck as they trickled into his spine. “You’re only coming until I say you can. Anything less, and you’re walking around with an erection for a whole day tomorrow so _everybody_ knows whom you belong to. Understand?”

Bond wanted to quip back some sort of retort, but the gag prevented him from doing so just as that hand around his shaft gave a near painful tug in the same motion that Friedrich allowed his other hand to yank at Bond’s hair.

He groaned, swallowing the accumulated saliva in the back of his throat with a tad of difficulty, then conceded a jerky nod.

“Good,” Friedrich cooed, relaxing his grips and massaging the agent’s scalp now, and Bond could hear the sick smile the Schwarz had on his face just from listening to that tone alone. “Good girl.”

Bond couldn’t hold back a strangled noise when Friedrich let go of his cock and, instead, reached lower to drive the vibrator that much deeper inside of him.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

By the time the gag was removed from his mouth with a resounding wet _pop_ , he was close to the point of bursting, hypersensitive as his chest rose up and down in rapid succession, both from welcoming in the extra surge of air as well as from the continued bodily exertions. The earplugs went next, and Bond immediately began tracking every movement, every shift in his environment with his hearing as best as he could.

The pounding of his heart didn’t particularly help in that area, but he had endured and had tried to wade through the muddling, cruel teases before, and he would continue to do so… There was no other choice.

Losing himself into this wasn’t an option.

When Friedrich released the leather holding his ankles in place and hitched his legs up, nearly doubling him over in the process, Bond gasped at the feel of fabrics dragging against his skin. Somehow, the idea that the Schwarz was still fully clothed on top of him scraped unpleasantly at his thought process.

The toy ceased its vibrating with a nudge, and the fact that Bond didn’t know whether he was more relieved or frustrated by this, tore through his consciousness with a scorching sear. However, as the smooth silicone slipped out of him, whatever lube that had been there already long gone, his attention followed the groan that escaped his throat and temporarily scattered, the now empty hole twitching pathetically around air in reflexes.

“Sing for me,” Friedrich crooned, tongue flicking at Bond’s lips, then kissed him deeply whilst aligning himself.

They groaned when Friedrich breached Bond’s entrance without meeting much resistance, and was fully sheathed and filling Bond to the brim in the next sharp thrust, the burn ripping a hiss from Bond’s mouth.

“God, I love fucking you,” Friedrich breathed, hands gripping at his hips and thumbs creasing over the rise of bones. “Your cunt just takes my cock so well.”

Bond wanted to quip that the muscles in most arseholes made it easy to suck in a cock, but nearly choked on a moan instead when Friedrich angled just so that he was aiming straight for Bond’s sweet spot… time after time after time.

At first, he thought that his over-sensitised nerves were just maximising all the pleasure it could glean from whatever friction Friedrich was providing, but soon, the haze of lust cleared long enough for the situation to click in his head, and enabled him to see through the twisted game for what it truly was.

Bond jerked against the bindings that still tied his arms to the bedposts, and gritted his teeth, fighting desperately against physiology to implement some, _any_ , semblance of control.

He wouldn’t come undone so easily. Not because he was trying to follow ‘orders’, but more of him not giving Friedrich that satisfaction.

“That’s right.” Friedrich suddenly grabbed at his jaws in a bruising grip with one swift motion that he could neither see nor predict, blunt nails sinking into his flesh. “Writhe and moan and _remember_ who’s giving you all this pleasure right now, Richard.”

Two fingers shoved into his mouth and pressed down on his tongue, and Bond stopped himself just short of grinding down on them and biting those clean off.

“Remember so you will never be able to whore yourself out to anyone else ever again other than _me_. Understood?”

It took a second of trying to gather all the remaining calm under this layer of prickling, too-tight skin for Bond to finally manage a nod and wait patiently until those digits retreated from between his teeth, trailing down to wrap around his neck once more.

“Who are you?”

“Richard Sterling.” It was the same familiar routine, but his voice was strangely hoarse when it came gravelling out, the words like gaping phantom kissing at the insides of his cheeks in the darkness before his eyes.

“And who do you belong to?” Whispers, hot breaths too close to his own damn lips.

He swallowed. Once. Twice. The thumb over his Adam’s apple acted almost like a paperweight, pinning the syllable down into a near tangible thing that shouldn’t be:

“You.”

Another kiss, soft. Too soft, too much like a caress.

“Excellent.”

And the pace eased—a sickening reward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read and review, everyone :) Your comments are what keep me going! 
> 
> Also, many thanks to [zerozerokyu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/zerozerokyu/pseuds/zerozerokyu) for all the encouragement and for listening to my incessant rambling. You're awesome.

**Author's Note:**

> [Illustration for Smokes and Mirror](http://careless-callus.tumblr.com/post/147848725832/a-piece-of-art-i-have-made-for-azure7539arts-s) by [Callus Ran](http://careless-callus.tumblr.com/)


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